Last Laugh
by SiriusFan13
Summary: Why is it that the worst of times brings out the crazies? Wayne Manor is in ashes. Bruce is gone, leaving Terry on his own. With this new responsibility comes fresh mayhem on the streets. But with characters like The Trickster, Lightning, and a police officer out to take Batman down, it's hard to tell who is friend and who is foe. Please read and review!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** We own nothing Batman or Batman Beyond. Also, I co-wrote this with my friend, Mike, so it isn't completely my brainchild. Weoriginally intended tofilm it. Please review, so we know whether it's a worthwhile idea! Thanks!

* * *

**Batman Beyond: Last Laugh**

_Maniacal laughter as the clown's hands clasped about his throat. He was speaking. Rambling about his victory as he had Batman pinned to the floor. In all honesty, Batman didn't care what he was saying, his eyes were locked on the pale neck before him. His mind focused on ending this, as he stretched his hands for something just outside of his reach…_

_A little further…_

_Just a little more…_

_Got it._

_He tuned in just in time to see Joker get into his face, demanding, "Laugh!"_

_And Batman managed a small smirk as his hand shot up to the Joker's neck._

"_Ha… ha…"_

_It was over in moments, as the overelectrified joybuzzer destroyed the monster's DNA. The form shifted, and a heavyset man slumped forward unconscious. Tim Drake had returned. The Joker was dead._

* * *

_Gotham City—1 year later_

The streets were dark and silent with the exception of a small commotion a short distance away, just within the shadows of the huge Gotham Bank. Two clowns bickered, their argument betraying the fact that their grinning masks were not expressing their true emotions.

The clown in pastels, taller and heavier than his accomplice, glanced back at the bank before turning toward his partner. "Okay, Smiles, let me get this straight: We blow up the bank and _then_ take the money?"

Even wearing the mask, the shorter, more gothic clown, Smiles, had the look of someone who wanted to kill his partner. Preferably in the slowest and most painful method possible. "Okay, Buttercup," he said through gritted teeth, "I'm gonna say this really slow so you get it this time. Then I'm gonna shoot you if you talk to me again, got it?"

Buttercup said nothing for a moment, looking at the bank again, and back at Smiles. "What?"

"Think about it doofus, how are we gonna take the cash if it's blown up?! We take the money, _then _blow the bank up."

A long dark figure made up like a skeleton with a trench coat and a cane, stepped out of the shadows, breaking up the argument. Both clowns staggered backwards.

"Z-zabo!" Smiles stuttered.

"Boss!"

Zabo glared between the two men before him. "You two quit your bickering. It doesn't take a genius to level a bank. Remember, we're just doing this to keep Batman busy while the girl does her thing."

* * *

_Batcave_

It had been a long night. A long _boring _night. Bruce sat in front of the supercomputer deep within the batcave, the flickering light from the monitor was the only thing illuminating his face. He'd been monitoring the city with his protégé for the past half hour, knowing full well that if things didn't pick up, Terry would be checking in soon. As if on cue, a familiar teenage voice crackled through the speakers.

"Hey, Bruce, you there?"

The old man smirked… _So predictable. "_Yes…"

"It's dead tonight. I think I'm gonna patrol for one more hour, then I'm gonna hit the sack. I have a math exam tomorrow anyway…"

"Fine," Bruce replied shortly. "Don't forget to check in."

"You got it. Later." Terry didn't notice the irritation in Bruce's voice. Or at very least, he was intelligent enough to pretend he hadn't. Bruce sighed. It wasn't _Terry's_ fault he had school. But it was sometimes difficult for Bruce to remember that… even on a night as slow as tonight.

Bruce was interrupted from his thoughts by a low knock on the front door. He could barely hear its hollow echo this deep within the caves. Bruce slowly got up, grabbing his cane from where it rested against the computer. Scowling, he let it support him. Honestly, he hated the thing. Made him feel old.

Slowly, he made his way up the long staircase, swearing softly to himself as he went. The stairs had seemed like such a great idea when he'd set the cave up. An elevator would have been a nice touch, too. He snorted. God, he was in a pleasant mood tonight.

* * *

_Downtown Gotham_

The explosion could be heard for miles as the bank went up in smoke and flames. Three Jokerz stood in front of the bank, loading their guns, their pockets full of creds. The bat signal flared against the smoke in the sky, fighting the flames for precedence.

The Jokerz stood warily looking around. This wasn't their usual scene. It had always been "grab the creds and run" in the past. But rules were rules, and they'd been told to stand and fight.

They didn't have to wait long. Moments later, a dark shadow flew through the signal directly at the trio. Zabo and Smiles dove to the ground, shooting as they rolled back to their feet. Buttercup, unable to decide which direction to follow, was plowed down by the Bat.

Batman smirked. _One down. Two to go. Good thing the suit was bulletproof._

Just as he was about to go into action, an unmarked police car squealed onto the scene, and an undercover cop jumped out, pointing his gun at everyone. The young detective glared at them, sending a special scowl directly at Batman.

Batman winced. _Deveroux. Shit._ This guy was worse to deal with than the Commissioner on a very _bad_ day.

"Freeze, assholes!" Deveroux snapped. He glanced back at Batman, who was taking a step toward the detective. Deveroux's gun shifted slightly to include the dark knight. "That means you too, batboy," he growled.

* * *

_Wayne Manor_

_Damn stairs._ Bruce had finally made his way up and was trying to ignore his Ace's angry barks as he slowly walked to the door. The knocking had unsurprisingly stopped awhile ago, but just in case, Bruce continued to the entranceway, a quick glance at the security cameras showed no intruder.

But there was something on the doorstep.

He stopped and looked back at the screen. It was small and rectangular. He tried to zoom the camera in, but still couldn't make it out. Probably some garbage from one philanthropy or another. Certain that no one was in the vicinity at least, Bruce finally walked to the door and opened it, looking down at the porch. There was a single small package waiting for him.

Bruce bent down to check the package. It was only then that he noticed the playing card attached.

_"Joker..."_

* * *

_Downtown Gotham_

The second explosion rocked the city, putting the first to shame. Deveroux and Batman were momentarily startled by the explosion, and the fight halted.

The Jokerz took advantage of the distraction, hopping onto their motorcycles and taking off down the street.

"_Shit! They're getting away!"_ Deveroux leapt into his car and squealed off down the street after them.

Batman, meanwhile was still staring in the direction of the explosion… the direction of Wayne Manor. _It can't be…_ He took off into the air, touching his earpiece. _I've gotta just make contact with him. Probably a coincidence. There's a couple of other banks in between here and the manor._

"Wayne? You there, Wayne?"

No answer. Just static.

"_Wayne! Damn it! Answer me!"_

Still nothing. This wasn't good. He was already past all of the likely sources of the explosion.

A flicker of orange glimmered off the mask as Batman neared the edge of the city. The sound of sirens wailed in the distance.

"No," he whispered. "God, no."

Wayne Manor, or what was left of it, was up in flames.

* * *

_Author's Note: I'm really sorry if this comes out sounding weak or shoddy. It was originally written as a script and I'm having a HECK of a time turning it into prose. Please bear with me. Let me know what you think. There are original characters in her (like Deveroux) and we did work hard on developing them _and _this storyline. I'd love to know what you think of it. So thanks for reading. Please please please review!_

_Sirius_


	2. Chapter 2

_ Yeah... I'm aware how long I made you wait for me to update this (or anything...) and I'm aware that this is ridiculously short. I apologize. This one is a nightmare to upload, because it was originally a script, so it takes me forever to mod even a few pages at a time to switch it over to prose. Also, there's the problem that since it was meant to be filmed, much was set up paced for film. It's short, because the next section didn't feel like it went well enough with this section to be in the same chapter. Hopefully Chapter 3 will not only be posted more quickly, but also be longer... Thanks so much for your patience... and for reading!_

* * *

**Chapter 2**

It was ridiculous how small the group was, really. He had been a hero. He was the reason half of Gotham was still alive. He was a philanthropist. A genius. A hero.

_A friend…_

But that hadn't been the man whose name was engraved on the huge, empty grave before them. That hadn't been Bruce Wayne, at least not the Bruce Wayne whose face kept flashing over the vid screens across town. Top news. Billionaire Bruce Wayne dies in a tragic accident. No family and few friends left to mourn. A legacy of wealth left behind. A legacy that ran the risk of serious legal battles and a long line of "friends" who had never even met the man.

That was why, after the big, formal funeral where lots of people showed up who claimed to be _great _friends of Wayne, yet didn't seem to know anything about him, there had been a very private burial among friends.

And again, it stung Terry to his core how small that group really was.

The youth stood at the edge of the crowd, the collar of his long, heavy coat folded up to protect his neck and ears from the bitter cold of the grey, drizzly day. He stood just near enough to ear the priest speaking. Far enough that he could avoid eye contact.

Miraculously, he was being left to his own thoughts.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a head of short grey hair turn in his direction. A flash of light off of glasses. Piercing blue eyes. Commissioner Gordon moved toward him.

_Spoke too soon, apparently…_

She stopped beside him, but said nothing. He had to admit, if anyone was going to be here, he was glad it was her. She understood. Mostly.

The priest's voice droned on. "Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust."

Terry couldn't help the dry laugh, harsh and a touch bitter, that bubbled up in his throat. "Yeah," he muttered. "Ashes and dust. That's all there is, isn't it? No body."

Gordon didn't turn toward him. Eyes fixed again on the grave before them, she replied in a surprisingly gentle voice, "Did you really expect one after _that _inferno?"

He didn't answer, instead glancing back around the small crowd. Voicing the thoughts that had been running through his head. "You'd think more people would have come. The whole city owes him."

She turned toward him just far enough that he could see her raised eyebrow. "Do you have any idea how hard it was to _keep_ the whole city from showing up for the wrong reasons? The funeral itself was bad enough." She snorted softly. "Never knew Bruce had so many illegitimate children and secretly wed women."

Terry didn't really have a response to that, so he remained silent.

She took a deep breath, trying once more to break the awkward hush that had fallen over them. "Listen, kid, how are you holding up?"

He shrugged. "I'm alive."

She nodded, taking off her glasses and wiping the condensing mist from the damp lenses. "Good." She cleared her throat and looked toward him once more, her eyes studying him carefully for a moment. "That was Bruce's, wasn't it?" she suddenly asked, motioning toward the long black coat he'd been huddled in for warmth. The coat that had been doing a remarkable job keeping his body warm, but had been failing miserably about warming his spirits even a single degree.

"Yeah…" He cleared his throat. "Yeah, I borrowed it a few nights before…" His eyes shifted. "… awhile ago…"

"Ah." Silence again. Clearly, this entire conversation was driving her crazy. Tact had never been Barbara's strong point in the first place. Straight to the point had always been her motto, especially with _them, _but she understood how he felt, and was trying…

He almost felt bad for her. Would have, if he were able to really feel anything at the moment. "What did you want?"

Her eyes abruptly met his. Her expression… grateful. "Right. I just wanted to check on you." Her lips tightened a moment, before adding.. "And I needed to ask… with the cave down… how will this affect Batman?"

"Batman is dead."

That flat, cold response managed to startle her. "What?"

He gritted his teeth, balling up his hands and growled back at her, an irrational anger flaring up inside of him. _She should understand. She knows. She _knows_ better, dammit! _"I _said_," he hissed, harshly, "that he's dead. He died in the manor. I was never Batman. It was always Wayne behind it. He's dead. So is Batman. You know that. Why pretend?

"McGinnis…"

Whatever else she'd planned on saying was abruptly cut off, by his frigid response, "Case closed. I'm out of this… For good this time."

With those words, he strode off, the frosted grass crunching beneath his feet. Cold enough to kill, yet still not as cold as he felt.

* * *

_Author's Note 2: Again, not solely my story. My friend Mike co-wrote it with me and told me it was cool if I modded it to prose and posted it here (since I wrote a significant part of it, and am doing the re-write/ edit on my own). Anyway, I hope you are enjoying it. Yes, this is a dark little chapter, but seriously guys... it's Batman... what do you expect? :)  
_

_Thanks so much for reading. Please review!  
_

_Sirius  
_


End file.
